Deeply disturbed and unhappy, Betty Carew left the queen’s room, and going into the gallery beyond, walked to and fro. There was something so desolate in Catherine’s situation, and so merciless were her enemies, that few women could have looked upon her with indifference, and Betty’s heart was not so cold as to resist the appeal. She had often wavered in her allegiance to the king’s party since her arrival at Kimbolton, and being young, was far more likely to be led by her sympathies than her reason. Had Catherine possessed in a greater degree the powers of attraction, she might have won the young girl wholly to her wishes; but the unhappy queen was not rich in nature’s gifts and her austerity was repellent, while her proud reserve in some degree concealed the depth of her own suffering.
Moved though Betty was, she could not bear the packet to the marquis without deliberately violating her pledges to her uncle; and bred as she had been under the new influences of the changed times, she had, too, a horror of meddling with a matter which she knew involved the safety of the realm, threatened, as it was, with a multitude of dangers. While she walked in the gallery, with a heart full of varied emotions, she heard the trampling of horses below, and running to the casement, saw the three guests riding away, and knew that, unless the queen had speedily found another messenger, it was too late.
That night Catherine was very ill, or so her maids gave out, and for two days afterwards no one saw her but her physician and her three chosen attendants. Mistress Betty was not summoned, even to perform any small office, and it touched her sharply to feel how deeply she was distrusted; but after this, there was no time for reflections, for events hurried one upon another. The queen’s condition could not be concealed, and reluctant as her personal attendants were to hold intercourse with the royal officers of the household, Bedingfield was notified of the danger in which she lay.
On New Year’s Day, at about six o’clock, came the queen’s Spanish maid of honor, Lady Willoughby, who had been Donna Maria de Salines. Bedingfield would have refused her admittance, since she had no warrant from the king, but she pleaded with such eloquence the cold and her fatigue that she finally gained her will. Once with Catherine, the Spanish woman never left her, but administered to her comfort to the end. The day after her arrival came also Capucius, the emperor’s ambassador, bearing, however, the king’s permission, though he was not allowed to see the dying queen save in the presence of the royal chamberlain. Bedingfield’s vigilance was defeated, however, for Catherine and Capucius spoke to each other in Spanish, a language which the royal officer understood as little as Hebrew.
Like a gloomy pageant, scene followed scene in this sorrowful drama. The weeping maid of honor, the stately ambassador, the laments of the poor, whom Catherine had ever treated with sympathy and kindness,—all these things made a sad impression on the young girl, who was a reluctant witness of the gloomy closing of a tragic life, nor was she to escape without one more trial. It was after Lady Willoughby’s arrival, and Catherine being very low, every member of the household shared in the service of attendance. Although she had been tacitly exiled from the queen’s presence, Betty was now called upon to go to her apartment, and, Catherine’s attention being attracted by her entrance, she called her to her bedside. The queen’s voice was firm, although her face bore the unmistakable signs of approaching death.
“Come hither, Mistress Carew,” she said; and as Betty obeyed her summons, she turned to Lady Willoughby, who stood on the other side.
“Maria,” she said, “mark you this maid? She is likely to go to court; will she not outshine some stars at Windsor?”
Lady Willoughby glanced in surprise from the queen’s face to Betty’s, and doubtless thinking her royal mistress wandering in mind, replied gently that the maiden was fair enough surely to shine in any court.
“Hark you, my girl,” Catherine said to Betty, a rigid sternness in her face, “I die the Queen of England, the true and lawful wife of the king’s grace. Forget it not.”
She paused, and there was no response. Betty Carew, standing beside her with tears in her eyes, had no words to answer her, and, like Lady Willoughby, believed that her mind wandered.